I am like Data (the android from Start Trek: The Next Generation) in that I’m trying to understand what it’s like to be human. I even feel like a nonhuman robot sometimes. Like now, kind of. The way I try to figure out this human nature thing is the same way I try to figure out anything. I break things down into its constituent parts. I get rid of anything that isn’t vital. I try to simplify and abstract what it is I’m trying to understand. When doing this to myself in the context of being a human, I actually lose my sense of feeling human. My thoughts on the subject range over a crazy variety of ways of looking at it. One way consists of humans being a specific configuration of particles that “change” over time. Another way is the universe looking back into itself. Another way is that humans are thinking machines.

I’m just rambling, by the way. I’m not getting at any particular point here. But then, that’s part of being human I guess. Not rambling, per se, but the acknowledgment of rambling and continuing to ramble. Like I said, I have no idea of what I’m saying right now. I’m grasping for a state of mind. And I’m trying to escape this nonhuman feeling by trying to do something distinctively human, that is, writing. But I’m typing with a machine, to a machine. I know that you, the reader, are human. Well, I’m assuming. See, if you were a machine reading this, you wouldn’t understand that I was talking about you. But then machines wouldn’t care and besides, I’m not talking about you in particular, because I have no idea who’s reading this while someone (you!) is reading this.

Now I’m just being silly and playing with linguistic constructs (I think). I mean, I’m playing with the language. Yeah. I’m being condecending. That’s what a lot of people accuse me of being ’cause I’m like smart and stuff and I speak with big words. I’m not drunk. My brain’s just a little fatigued. Why couldn’t I just be a normal guy who likes beer, sports, cars and little else. Well, I do like women. But then why must so many guys be normal. Fucking normal guys. They get all the girls. One day the tables will turn and chicks will dig weirdos. Not necessarily creepy weirdos, but I mean guys like me. Well, some regard me as creepy. Hell, just by reading this, one would be inclined to think I was creepy.

Or maybe not. I just want to be happy. Happy with someone who didn’t think I was creepy, or too smart, or too condescending, or too boring. I don’t think you’re creepy. I love you (unless you’re a guy, except for my dad, I love him but only as a father, you know). I love my kitty but not in any creepy way. Ick. I better get to work or sleep now. Zeepa.

Who you are = (Your life experiences) - (What you can’t remember at the moment)

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